The Game
by dontfallforit
Summary: House and Cuddy have been playing the Game since they first met. Now that Cuddy wants out, the rules have to change. Definite Huddy.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters, etc.

He was an ass. It was more a statement of fact than an opinion. She knew it, he knew it, and neither expected him to change. But deep down, in the same place she kept dreams of her happy ever after and her prince charming, she harbored the fantasy that he could be different… and that she could be the reason. She tried to deny it, she tried to ignore it, she tried to buy into the idea that he was a miserable man who would never know happiness. And yet she bailed him out, time and time again. She looked the other way when he broke rules, she covered his ass when he made mistakes, and she put herself on the line time and time again. Lisa Cuddy had never been a woman who let her heart trump her head. She was rational, logical, precise in all her decisions. But with House, it was never a question. Until now.

House leaned over his desk, tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. He slowly re-taped the wrapping paper with a steadiness and focus that he usually only reserved for... well, that he usually only reserved for "projects" meant to annoy Cuddy. Pausing to contemplate that thought and to admire his work, he took the DVD boxed set of _Planet Earth_ and threw it at the trash can in the corner.

"And the crowd goes wild!" he murmured, listening to the thud as the brand new DVDs probably rendered themselves unreturnable.

He smirked at the rewrapped present on his desk. Perfection. The card read, "Dear James, We talked about this series a few months ago, and I know you haven't been able to see the episodes yet. The footage is breathtaking and I know you'll enjoy the DVDs. Take care, Lisa." He was almost tempted to be in the room when Cuddy watched Wilson unwrap her gift. _Naughty or Nice: Santa and His Merry Elves II_, the special edition DVD boxed set. Key word being "almost." He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his cane. Jimmy was in for the best Christmas gift of his life.

Cuddy sighed as she glanced at the clock on her desk, murmuring an "uh huh" when the board member on the phone paused for her reaction. This conference call seemed to drag on forever. 3:27. She waited for it, counting off the seconds. Never had a minute seemed so long. She glanced at her nails, making a mental note to schedule a manicure later. 3:28. Another "uh huh" followed by an "of course" before her mind wandered again. As inevitable as it was, Cuddy found herself thinking of House. It was the time of year when she found herself weighing the pros and cons of putting her energy and effort into this... whatever this _thing_ was that she had with House. Over two decades and what return had she gotten out of this investment? Probably years off her life, countless gray hairs, and thousands of dollars in therapy. 3:29. Just when she thought they were moving forward, making some sort of progress in this kindergarten-punch-a-girl-in-the-face-because-you-like her routine, he had to go and do something stupid. Like hire a prostitute to entertain him in his office. As if his Gameboys or Atari or whatever it is he played with now wasn't enough. 3:30. "Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate you all taking the time for this conference call. I think we've discussed everything on our agenda. Have a wonderful holiday and we'll reconvene in the new year." As she ended the call, her fingers slipped from the phone to the scarred wood of her desk. She tried to hold back the smile. Sometimes he tried and when he did, he knew just what to do for her to fall for him all over again. She looked up and her smile faltered. Wilson stood outside her door, waving awkwardly and holding up her present. Or at least what looked like her present...

It was almost 4 and he hadn't seen Cuddy all day. Another hour or so and he'd be home free. He propped his feet on Coma guy's bed, making sure his sneakers didn't dirty the hospital sheets. And to think people called him inconsiderate. He sipped his Big Slurp and swung the Wii controller. The House look-a-like on the screen knocked the baseball out of the park. It was the best purchase Wilson's credit card had ever made. The only improvement House could think of was if the user could customize body details as well. The Wii Cuddy would have a low cut shirt, big breasts, and an even bigger ass. Instead, he had to settle for red devil eyes and a beard.

He wasn't in the lounge. He wasn't in his office. Cuddy marched from the elevator down the hallway, heels clicking with authority. She was a woman on a mission. Even her tight skirt couldn't slow her down. She stood for a brief moment outside Coma guy's room, collecting her thoughts before sliding the door open and stepping in.

"Uh oh. Mommy's here! Gotta go!" mouthed House as he slid his feet off the bed, dropping the Wii remote and reaching for his cane.

"House! Midget porn?! Where do you even find these things? No, nevermind. I don't want to know what you do in your personal time," raged Cuddy as she brushed a brown curl out of her face. Great. Mental note: add a hair appointment to the list.

"I think the politically correct term is 'little person adult entertainment.' I'm shocked, Cuddles. What would all those big donors do if they knew about your racist slurs?" House frowned and pretended to look concerned and pensive for a moment before making a move for the door.

"Last I checked, 'short' was not a race and..." Cuddy trailed off as her eyes drifted to the television screen. "House, who is that?" Her tone was dangerously low, quiet, controlled. He froze, glanced at the bearded woman on the screen and the flashing "Party Pants, your turn!" text.

"It was the closest I could get. Unfortunately, Nintendo is family-friendly and doesn't have a tranny mode," he said, raising his voice as he saw a nurse appear in the doorway behind Cuddy. "And besides, all those estrogen pills they gave you post-op really seem to be working. You can't even tell you used to have an Adam's apple." The nurse cleared her throat and entered the room with an armful of clean sheets. "He's kidding, really," murmured Cuddy, feeling the blush rise and stain her cheeks when the nurse's eyes dropped to stare at her throat.

"House. Outside. Now," she demanded, already feeling the onset of a headache. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, pivoting on a heel and marching out. House waited, tilting his head and watching her hips sway as she stalked out of the room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, she stepped closer and jabbed a finger into his chest. He feigned injury and remarked, "Ouch, Cuddy, better watch that manly strength. You better tell them to up your dosage unless you can find yourself a man with a fetish for biceps the size of your funbags."

"House, I've had enough. I start every year thinking things are going to be different. That you'll show some self-control, some awareness of someone other than yourself, anything that proves you're not completely self-involved. And every year, without fail, I find myself making up excuses for you. You don't just break the rules, you shatter them. You don't just risk your job, you risk mine. It's all just a game to you and the only thing you care about is winning, not who's on your team." What started out in a whispered fury slowly trailed off into resignation. She didn't have the energy. This conversation would probably end the same way as every one before. With her revealing a vulnerability that he would somehow crush. Maybe with a smart ass comment or a hand on her breast. She only had so much to give. She took a deep breath and put the steel walls up once more. Shaking her head, curly brown tendrils falling into her face, she looked into his blue eyes. "Forget it, House. Forget it."

What the hell just happened? House leaned on his cane and watched her retreating figure in silence. He couldn't even appreciate the view. Cuddy never backed down. He would poke her, she'd respond. Then he'd push and she'd push, and they'd go back and forth in this verbal foreplay. It was a delicious tease and watching her get riled up was one of the biggest turn-ons he'd ever experienced. For fuck's sake, her reaction was the reason he did half the things he did. And if the way she walked away from their arguments with an extra shake of her ass, the way she happened to bend instead of squat when picking things up around him, and the way she happened to lean forward when they argued across a desk, if any of that was for show, then House was pretty sure she played the game better than he did. At least he thought she did. She was right. It was just a game to him. But he really didn't care who won or lost. It was the anticipation of her next move and the expectation of her response. However, the entire game was built on the premise that this was enough, this tug-of-war with no resolution. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, still standing in the hallway outside of Coma guy's room. He stared at the wall as the wheels in his head turned, clicking into place. A slow smile spread across his lips as he sped off, cane thudding along the floor.

7:30. Cuddy massaged the bridge of her nose, placing her glasses on her desk. She had barely put a dent in the pile of papers on her desk. Her mind kept wandering to House. He was so infuriating. He pushed and pushed and pushed her to the brink. She was near her breaking point, and rather than see what would happen when she reached it, Cuddy pulled away. She sighed. Nothing more was going to get done today. She stood and tried to arrange the papers in some sort of order for the next day. Her Burberry trench enveloped her and her fingers went through the motions of buttoning the buttons, tying the belt, and tucking the tails of her scarf between the lapels. She slid the key from the lock and turned to leave when her pointed Jimmy Choo toe kicked the envelope by the door. She reached down and picked it up, seeing "Dr. Lisa Cuddy" written on the front. Inside, she found a simple piece of paper with the following typed on it:

"Cuddy, Cuddy, your hips don't lie.

You want me, it's a fact you can't deny.

I know you're desperate because you're old,

and since giving is part of the holiday spirit (or so I'm told)

I'm going to blow your mind

(so you can return the 'blowing' in kind)."

Despite her best efforts, she smiled. In his own way, House could be charming. And she used that term loosely. This was how it all started. He'd say or do something and she'd let her guard down. Then he'd say or do something completely idiotic, she'd get frustrated, he'd push her buttons, she'd push his, he'd fake vulnerability and weakness, she'd fall for it, and he'd get her in a "Gotcha!" moment. It was a cycle that was taking it's toll. The smile faltered and she slowly slid the piece of paper back in the envelope. As she walked towards the main doors, she let the envelope slip from her fingers into the trash.

House leaned against the second floor railing overlooking the clinic. He watched the emotions that crossed her face as she read the note. He watched her make a decision and he watched her walk out. This was going to be harder than he thought, but Gregory House was never one to turn down a challenge. Especially if her name was Lisa Cuddy.


	2. Chapter 2

The ringing shattered the silence in her bedroom and she slowly opened her eyes. Pitch black. With a soft groan, she pressed her hand to her face, fingers sliding from her cheek through her tussled hair. She really needed that hair appointment. Maybe if she went back to sleep and ignored the call, it'd go away. She turned her head and squinted at the bright neon numbers. 2:47. Another groan slipped from her lips as she pulled the covers over her head and burrowed back into the comfort of her down pillows. Suddenly, the ringing cut off. Silence drowned her room once again and her eyes shot open. This was new. Usually he'd keep calling until she picked up or until she left the phone off the hook. Cuddy smiled and stretched, arching her back and snuggling deeper into her warm, soft, welcoming bed. She wasn't going to question her good luck. Maybe the vicodin and whiskey finally kicked in. Before she drifted off into dreams of perusing Neiman Marcus with a handsome man who complimented and encouraged her wardrobe choices, she heard the distinct sound of knocking. A cane. Knocking on her front door.

House stood outside Cuddy's door. One hand gripped his cane, rapping the handle against her door. The other held his cell phone, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his smirk. Five minutes had passed. His drum solo on her door continued. It would be so long before she caved. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in his hand and the display read, "Booty Call." He brought the cane down, leaning on it as he pressed "talk" and brought the phone to his ear.

"House of Love."

"House. What are you doing at my door at 3 in the morning?"

"Who says I'm at your door? I'm at home enjoying a late night movie classic."

"Skinemax does not show movie classics."

"Cuddles, I'm hurt you think I'd resort to cheap cable substitutes. I'm thoroughly enjoying Jimmy's

Christmas gift. I didn't think Jews believed in Santa."

"Right. I guessed you missed that Sunday school lesson. We invented him to console the children after we killed Jesus. House, what do you want?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Why the secrecy?" House took a step away from the door, trying to see if she had turned her bedroom light on yet. A crooked grin crossed his face as he tapped his cane against the potted plant sitting to the right of her door. He knew she kept a spare key under the pot. She knew he knew, and yet she had never moved its hiding place. He could easily have unlocked the door and strolled in, but where would the fun in that be?

Cuddy rolled her eyes. How could she expect anything else from a conversation with House in the middle of the night? She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, scooting back until she could rest against the headboard of her bed.

"Fine. You want to know what I'm wearing? Nothing. I went to bed naked after a late night with the twin cheerleaders from next door. They're home from college for winter break." Cuddy pulled a pillow to her mouth to muffle her laughter when House, for once, was speechless.

His breathing deepened and he licked his lips, trying to mentally lock that image away for later. His fingers tightened on the handle of the cane and he pictured Cuddy, naked. Her brown curls were loose, falling softly around her shoulders. The bangs hid her eyes until she shook her head, blue-gray irises staring at him. Her tongue traced the outline of her upper lip as she tilted her head back, exposing the smooth expanse of her long neck. She wiggled her fingers at him, the index finger disappearing between those cherry lips. Her lips parted and he watched her tongue swirl around the tip before she pulled her finger free and slowly... ever so slowly... ran it down her body. Before he got too carried away, House inhaled sharply and cleared his throat.

"Ooh, someone's been very naughty this year. Have you been reading my diary?" His voice was hoarse, raspy, low... and incredibly hot. She couldn't help the shiver along her spine. The game had taken a dangerous turn, and to be honest, she wasn't all that sure she wanted to stop. In turn, she put on the best phone-sex whisper she could, husky and soft.

"Baby, you wouldn't know naughty if it spanked you. And Penthouse doesn't count as a diary, even though I'm sure you've made a number of 'entries' on those pages."

House tucked his chin against his chest, a corner of his smile creeping higher into his trademark lopsided grin. This was the Cuddy he wanted to play with. "Are you offering? Usually I pay tens of dollars for unattractive women to talk like this to me on the phone. But tens of dollars is what? Ten times your going rate? Mommy, I've been a very bad boy."

"That's sweet how you associate your mother and phone sex."

"What? You'd rather I associate my father and phone sex?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and laughed, despite her best efforts to stay in control. Taking another glance at the clock, she leaned over and turned on the lamp perched on her nightstand. No doubt he was outside staring at her window, which was significantly better than in the tree staring in her window. She pushed the covers back and slid her bare legs out of bed, softly gasping when the cold air brushed her skin. Her feet padded quietly over the hardwood floors, careful to avoid the area near the window.

"House, what do you want?"

"To borrow some sugar."

"Seriously? You drove past 3 grocery stores to get to my house, and you couldn't stop at any one of them?"

"Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor," he sang, shuffling to the side on her front step to try and get a better view into her bedroom. She had finally turned on the light. He imagined her laying in bed, probably in some slinky silk nightie with lace and leather.

"If that's the best you've got, there's no way I'm going to shake it like a Polaroid picture." And then silence. House pulled the phone away and saw that she had hung up. He pressed the redial button, but before the number connected, the front door swung open. There, in her sleep-deprived glory, stood Dr. Lisa Cuddy. In full-length, flannel pajamas.

"Wow, Cuddy, no need to get all dressed up," he stated, as his eyes raked over her body. The pajamas were too big, the neck low enough to give a tantalizing glimpse of her chest. Low enough to suggest she probably wasn't wear much underneath.

As his eyes blatantly swept over her body, Cuddy felt like she was in medical school again. The professor had just called on her in lecture, eyes on her, dissecting her and judging her response. However, Lisa Cuddy didn't graduate second in her class because she shied away from attention. She let his eyes roam, arching a perfect eyebrow and clearing her throat after a moment passed. "Happy? Now go home. Some of us like to go to work on time."

"Aww, but mom, I'm not tired," whined House, emphasizing the "mom." He let Cuddy give him a gentle push as he turned and slowly walked from her door. He felt her hands slide down his back and pat his bottom.

"Good night, House." And then the door closed and she was gone.

"Good night, Cuddy." House headed toward the curb, where his motorcycle was haphazardly parked. As he walked, he heard paper crinkling. Reaching back, fingers sliding into his back pocket where Cuddy's hands had been a moment before, he retrieved a handwritten note. The penmanship was unmistakeable, feminine and bold.

"This is not a game."

He turned in time to watch her bedroom light flick off. Actions speak louder than words, and despite all her huffing and puffing and denials, Cuddy was in it to win it. She just didn't know it yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Wow. Response has been unexpected and flattering. You keep stroking my ego and I'll keep feeding your apparent addiction. But seriously, thank you. Enjoy and cheers!

--

Cuddy walked through the doors of Princeton-Plainsboro, soy latte in one hand, her leather attache case in the other. Her trench fell just below her knees, revealing bare legs that ended in black heels. She didn't care how unprofessional those bare legs looked, she couldn't stand the constricting feel of stockings. Her compromise was leaving the peep toe shoes at home, despite how well they complemented her outfit. She blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, glancing at the clock mounted above the clinic doors. 8:30. Impeccably on time, as usual. She smiled, proud of this minor achievement. In a day dominated by budget meetings, kissing donor asses, hospital crises, and House's rabble-rousing trouble-making, she'd take all the little victories she could get.

She took a small sip of the latte, letting the warmth fill her and the caffeine kick-start her brain. Speaking of House, what was that stunt last night? She didn't have a date, he didn't have a pressing medical demand, there was no reason for his visit. Though, she had to admit, it wasn't quite as annoying or brash as his normal breaking-and-entering endeavors.

Nurse Brenda greeted her and they exchanged their normal morning pleasantries, small talk with an unspoken acknowledgement of how difficult the other's job was. It was a mutual respect, hard-earned and battle-scarred, and probably the only reason Brenda didn't call security on House during his many tantrums.

As Cuddy walked into her office and switched on the room light, Brenda could only shake her head. She didn't know what the tumultuous relationship between the Dean of Medicine and the Head of the Diagnostics Department was, but she knew it was something only the two of them understood. She had worked in the clinic long enough to recognize that all House wanted was attention. True, he inevitably caused a scene when he appeared for clinic duty, but the act would melt away the moment Cuddy emerged from her office. He wouldn't behave, far from it, but at least he kept himself in check. And the days Cuddy wasn't there? He wouldn't even bother showing up. She sighed and started to separate the paperwork for today's visitors. Their's was a strange relationship, indeed.

A couple of hours later, the latte sat cold on her desk, lipstick smudge staining the lid. She had arrived to frantic voicemails and emails from trustees and board directors. One of the hospital's largest donors had been taken for everything by Bernard Madoff's $50 billion ponzi scheme. The scheme had been headline news as of late, but the donor had been unaware of just how much of his investments he had lost. Consequently, the budget for new hospital construction had to be re-evaluated. Cuddy was level-headed, a picture-perfect example of a steadfast captain. Unpredicted financial disasters were the reason there was an endowment.

The excitement was just starting to die down and Cuddy was finishing the last round of reassuring phone calls when Brenda knocked on her office door. Cuddy glanced up and read the letters scrawled across the clipboard Brenda pressed to the glass: House. The remaining 30 seconds of the call were a jumble of words, none of them making any particular sense, as Cuddy rushed the board member off the phone.

Heels on the tile floor announced Cuddy's presence and, without looking up from her paperwork, Brenda handed Cuddy a stapled pack of papers. The cover had a crudely drawn stick figure. Correction: a crudely drawn anatomically correct stick figure. "Cleverly" titled _How the She-Grinch Stole Christmas_, the pack of papers was a xeroxed collection of childish drawings accompanying a rewrite of the Dr. Seuss classic.

"Every kid down in Kid-ville liked Christmas a lot... but the She-Grinch, who lived just north of the clinic, did not! The She-Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It _could_ be that she hadn't been screwed just right. It _could_ be, perhaps, that her skirt was too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all may have been that her bra was two sizes too small." There, above the butchered children's tale, was a stick figure with gigantic breasts and out of control brown curls. At least this cartoon version of her had appeared to shave. She flipped through the rest of the pages and saw graphic illustrations of the "She-Grinch" eating children and stealing presents.

Brenda gave her a moment, and still without looking up, stated, "It's got more copies than Harry Potter. One of the doctors brought it down. Apparently it's all over pediatrics and parents are concerned that someone from our psych ward is on the loose." She continued with her case files. At least House had the foresight to wait until Cuddy was almost done with the budget crisis.

Cuddy sighed and waved down a resident, instructing him to collect and burn all copies of _She-Grinch_. She refused to lose her temper, she refused to hunt him down, she refused to acknowledge this ploy. She thought she had made it perfectly clear last night. This is not a game.

It was noon and House found himself disappointed that Cuddy had yet to barge into his office, demanding an explanation, an apology, or an exertion of common sense. He knew she had to have seen his grand masterpiece. There was little that took place in her hospital that she didn't know about. She just sometimes chose to look the other way. He leaned back in his chair, cranked up the volume to his stereo and listened to the Rolling Stones rock through his noise-canceling headphones. The oversized tennis ball bounced off the wall back into his hand. As Jagger crooned his philosophy, "You can't always get what you want," House tossed the ball aside and reached for his cell phone.

Her Blackberry vibrated, light flashing to announce a new message. She ignored it for a minute or two, before the fear of a hospital emergency overruled her rational assumption that House was bored.

_Did you know Dr. Seuss wasn't a real doctor?_

She tried, she really did. She tried to resist the urge to respond. She even put the Blackberry in her desk drawer to avoid the temptation, but it was hard to focus on anything else. He kept her on her toes. His insults and slurs often crossed the line. Alright, they always crossed the line, but they also always kept her on her toes. Keeping up with House was a mental exercise that kept her mind quick and her tongue sharp. Bantering was daily practice and as commonplace in the hospital as scrubs and syringes. If there was one thing Cuddy liked, it was routine. Resting her elbows on the desktop, she buried her face in her hands, peering through her fingers when she felt the desk vibrate.

_He was just an administrator who wished upon a star he could be a doctor._

House sang along, low timbre of his voice mirroring the rise and fall of Mick Jagger's wail. His phone buzzed. He put a little more energy into the next lyric as he read Cuddy's text. He knew she'd cave.

_Doctors help people. Doctors like helping people. What does that make you?_

_You're still an administrator. Are you wearing the Afghani prostitute top? You administrate best then._

_I'm wearing what I wore last night. Why aren't you working?_

_You vixen. Your nightie makes me want to play Paul Bunyan. Interested?_

_No case = clinic. Now. _

_Flashbacks? Perhaps someone had to play Babe the ox in school plays? I can see the resemblance._

_Clinic. Now._

_Fine, you can be Paul. I have a tree you can climb._

_Paul cut trees. Still interested?_

_Typical Jew. Cutting the tips off healthy trees. When will the violence end?_

_Clinic._

_You just want to see me. Admit it, you like having me close._

_I like you doing your job. It's what I pay you for, despite those rumors you started._

_Those rumors didn't do anything except get Cameron ready with her checkbook._

_House. This is not a game._

Cuddy was done. Blackberry off. She glanced at the watch draped across her slender wrist and pushed away from the desk. Her movements were automatic: slipping her Burberry trench on, wrapping the scarf around her neck, slipping her fingers into the soft leather of her gloves. She left the office lights on, drawing the blinds closed over the glass door. He could only occupy himself for a short time before boredom and curiosity took over. When House finally made his way down, he'd be able to see the light coming from her office, but he wouldn't be able to see in. The locks had recently been changed. Cuddy has insisted on out-of-house contractors. Harder for House to bribe or steal his way to a copy of the key.

A soft smile revealed the tiny wrinkles on her face as laughter lines. She nodded to Brenda on her way out. She'd take what little victories she could get, for now. Though she hated herself for giving in, she hated him even more for not giving up. If the only way to get through to him was to play, then this game was far from over.


	4. Chapter 4

House tucked his cane between the chairs in the clinic waiting area and slouched low in his seat. He pulled the bill of his baseball cap down over his eyes and held the day's paper up over his face. Cuddy had left around one the day before. He knew because she had conveniently stopped texting just as _General Hospital_ came on. The undisturbed hour had House questioning his disbelief in a higher benevolent being. Any god that could keep that harpy quiet during his show was worth at least a sarcastic reference. However, when he woke up hours later, face pressed against the cushions and a drool stain on his shoulder, he started to wonder if Cuddy had ever come back. He didn't have to wait long for the answer.

As House made his way down the hallway back to his office, strangers, nurses, other doctors, anyone and everyone, hugged him. They wrapped their arms around him in bear hugs, gentle squeezes, awkward embraces, and sympathetic snuggles. One particularly tenacious older woman refused to let go. Her gray bun came up to mid-chest and her arms slid under his suit jacket and around his waist. House made a show of sliding his cane between their bodies and trying to pry himself free. She was just as determined to hold on, clinging to him. He sighed and looked around for any poor sap, namely Wilson, he could pawn her off on... and his eyes met his reflection in the glass. There it was, on his forehead: Bold, feminine, precisely scripted. "Need Hug"

8:30. Impeccably on time, as usual. House peeked from the side of the newspaper, blue eyes watching Cuddy walk through the doors. Those same blue eyes widened and darkened as House sat up straighter, mouth open. The morning sun followed her in, catching the natural highlights in her hair. The cut was sharper than her normal style, less layered and less curled. Her bangs lay across her forehead, kissing her lashes. On any other woman, the hair would have been butchered, unflattering, and the butt of his endless jokes. But on Cuddy, she was transformed. The new angles of her hair framed her face and emphasized her cheekbones, especially when she smiled. Cuddy stopped briefly to exchange morning greetings with Brenda. As she turned for her office, her eyes met House's and he stared. Gray-blue, a color he struggled to define in the tiny moment he held her gaze.

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat. She had expected utter chaos this morning in retaliation for yesterday's prank. Instead, she found House playing a pathetic game of hide-and-seek in the clinic. The look he gave her was surprise and shock, probably because his "disguise" had failed. Typical House. Typical, except the intensity of his eyes, the complete focus on her and nothing else, was enough to hold her attention. For that tiny moment, this was all that mattered.

House was the first to move. He jerked the paper back over his face, sliding down in his seat and avoiding her. The moment passed and time regained its consciousness, ticking away at a pace that suggested the day and all its opportunities were slipping by. Cuddy smiled, flashing her perfect teeth, the smile lit up her face. She rolled those gorgeous eyes of hers and pivoted, pushing the door open to her office. House continued to discreetly observe her, peering from around the paper. Damn, even the back looked good. But it probably always did. He couldn't remember the last time he had watched the back of her head and not the back of her... and not the back of her.

Cuddy played her messages on speaker as she changed from her trench into her white doctor's jacket.

"Um... hello, Dr. Cuddy. This is Ethel Perlstein. I met Dr. House last night. What a charming man. I told him that he would be perfect for my daughter, except he's a _goy_ and has a _putz_."

Cuddy's burst out in laughter, nearly missing the rest of the older woman's message as she took a sip of her soy latte.

"... told me he knew a lovely _tsatskeh_ and gave me your phone number. Now this is probably just a phase Rachel is going through, but I love my daughter and it's so hard to find a nice, successful, Jewish lesbian doctor."

Espresso and steamed soy splattered all over the desk as Cuddy choked and knocked her cup over. Muttering some of her own choice Yiddish words beneath her breath, she dabbed at the mess with napkins, trying to clean it up best she could before the Starbucks stained her papers. No use lecturing House, he was probably long gone and finding him would take more time than it was worth.

Cuddy glanced at her computer monitor and did a double-take when she noticed the time. 5:17. She cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder, freeing her hands to shuffle through the papers on her desk. They'd barely been touched since the near-coffee-disaster this morning.

She'd been caught in a flood of donations. In response to the loss of one of the hospital's major donations, Cuddy had placed some strategic phone calls. Not only was this a rare opportunity for a donor to solidify his legacy with a building named after him, but the contribution would be tax-deductible, a huge selling point considering the state of the economy. It was already Christmas Eve, and donors desperate to make the deadline for this tax-year were knocking down her door.

At 5:20, just as she finished thanking the last new donor, House threw her door open. He had his peacoat on, scarf draped loosely around his neck, and bag slung over a shoulder. Cuddy waited. She waited for an insult, a demand, a sexual proposition, all of the above. Instead, House avoided eye contact and slowly walked toward her desk. She noted that he relied more on the cane. His hair was thinning with more white streaking the gray than she remembered.

Her heart ached, but not because he presented such a vulnerable figure. It ached because they were both older and he hadn't changed a bit. The world had madly spun on while they were locked in this game, and now she was realizing that years had slipped by during the moments she stared into his startling blue eyes. Blue eyes that finally looked at her.

House cleared his throat. Tact and charm had never been his strong points. It was Christmas Eve, the dusk of another year, and he was going home to spend the holiday alone. Not that he really minded. There was a bottle of single malt and a stacks of porn waiting for him. Cuddy sat behind her desk, quietly watching him. She was a formidable and entertaining foe, though foe wasn't perhaps the right word. The sexual tension between them was electric, the charge only escalating by the mental battle of wills. They were both stubborn and used to getting their way, and Cuddy was the only one who'd ever given him a run for his money.

He hadn't thought about what life would be like without a Cuddy to tease, sexually harass, oogle, banter with. He hadn't though about life without Cuddy because it never seemed possible. As she had started to retreat from their game, as her actions were tinged with slight resignation, House paid more attention. House never made promises he couldn't keep, which is why he had never promised her anything and why she had never asked. While she waited and played along, her colleagues had settled down with kids and husbands. He convinced himself it was her choice. He couldn't see her satisfied with a conventional life filled with bake sales, PTA meetings, and blissful domesticity.

She didn't want to _be_ something to him. She wanted to _mean_ something to him. Objects were easily replaced. Feelings were not, especially with House. Everyone in House's life fulfilled a role. From Wilson to Cameron to Stacy to his father, everyone had a part to play. She didn't care what he regarded her as, just as long as that regard was significant enough to justify this two decade plus relationship.

"You bought that trench after the October _Vogue_ reached stands," he stated, matter-of-fact, while pointing at the coat rack with his cane. "Then, when the November issue came out, you bought the heeled brown leather boots featured in the 'Trends' section. Who knew you were actually a woman?"

Startled by his observations, there was a pause as Cuddy gathered her thoughts. "I could say the same. Paying attention to my shoes, memorizing _Vogue..._ House, is there something you'd like to tell the class?"

"You got where you are by working twice as hard as the guy next to you. You're the first female Dean of Medicine and the second youngest. Hillary didn't get where she is by flashing some ankle skin, and neither did you, though you admittedly would do better with your lack of cankles. You want people to take you seriously and not just as a pretty face, but you still like dressing up. Probably an evolutionary tactic to try and trick a mate to breed with your wrinkled body. Your pride and vanity conflict. You love the fashion rags, but you'd be mortified if anyone at the hospital knew you subscribed. Which is why you impulsively buy them while waiting in line at the grocery store with your Weight Watchers mircowavable dinners."

It took a moment for everything he said to sink in. She tilted her head, a little confused by his speech. Was he trying to compliment her? Leave it to House to insult her while trying to say something nice. And then she bit down on the side of her lower lip, trying to hide the smile slowly creeping onto her face. "House... did you just call me pretty?"

He blinked. Very slowly. The term "pretty face" had just slipped out. He tapped his cane against her floor, avoiding eye contact again. "The first issue will arrive in 8-10 weeks. Don't feel flattered. The ad popped up while I was trying to download xtube videos. The grunting and sweating reminded me of you. Merry Christmas."

House looked at her, drinking her in, memorizing the expression of surprise and pure happiness on her face. He felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do next. So he turned and left.

As the door swung shut behind him, Cuddy found her tongue. "Merry Christmas, House." Try as she might, she couldn't repress the smile that played across her lips. Brushing her bangs from her eyes, she leaned back in her chair and pulled open her desk drawer. Inside, sat a gift-wrapped box. Her finger skimmed the cool, smooth surface, gingerly opening the card attached to the present.

"Dear Greg, This year has been eventful, as usual. What would I do without you to keep me on my toes? Probably live to see seventy. Don't 'wear' yourself out. Yours, Lisa."

**Just getting started. Stay tuned.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: I really appreciate the reviews. Thanks for the support! Keeps me motivated to get these chapters done!**

Cuddy left the gift outside House's apartment door on the way home from work. She stood in the hallway for a minute or two, thinking about knocking. Her fingers trailed over the copper apartment number and she imagined him sprawled on his couch. He had probably taken off the suit jacket and his button-up. He was probably in a Rolling Stones t-shirt. There was probably a half-empty glass of whiskey on the coffee table next to a box of cold pizza. "Probably" was what she had to settle for because Cuddy let her hand drop from the door. She hesitated, then turned and left.

House exhaled. He didn't remember holding his breath and he couldn't recall how long he'd been standing and watching her through the peephole. He had seen the headlights reflect off his ceiling and assumed the Chinese takeout was here. The cane lay propped against the wall by the door, where he'd left it. In his apartment, there was no need to rush and there was no one to judge him if he showed physical weakness. His approach was therefore quiet, the sound of socks against wooden floors, and it was only sheer luck that he hadn't yanked the door wide open.

For reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on, House had taken a moment to glance through the peephole. Cash almost fell from his hand. He watched her trace the numbers on his door and he placed his own hand on the wood, flexing his fingers. Any other time, he would have yelled out an inappropriate comment, announcing his presence and ruining the moment. But the look on her face was sincere, honest, and without the fierce facade she put on within the walls of PPTH. He bit his tongue, waiting for her next move. This was new territory.

Even after she had long gone, House stood there, rooted to the floor. His life was defined by puzzles that could be solved by reason, logic, and ration. There was always a solution, like math and science. No matter the difficulty, the complexity, there was a right and wrong answer. Feelings, emotions, these were like good poetry. A million ways to interpret, and each interpretation was right and wrong. Another reason he went to medical school. He was still there when the delivery guy raised a fist to knock. House pulled the door open. He shoved cash into the man's hand, grabbed the dripping brown bag, and almost slammed the door when he noticed the neatly wrapped present on the ground.

Cuddy sat at her desk, trying to finish the paperwork that had accumulated over the past week. She felt guilty enough taking Christmas off that she had come in on a Saturday. If diseases and illness didn't recognize Federal holidays, why should she? But she had promised her goddaughter she would come for Christmas brunch. Watching the young girl tear through her presents on Christmas morning was at once a joy and an utter heartbreak. Her best friend from the days at Michigan had given up a lucrative career in corporate law to raise her daughter. Cuddy couldn't help but play the "what if?" game, a game that inevitably led to thoughts of House.

She shook the memory from her mind, pen poised in her hand. She had been staring at the blank signature line, lost in dreams that she had long ago set aside as just that: dreams. Her hand was steady, determined, as the pen glided across paper. Smooth, scripted, and flawlessly perfect, her signature was everything she tried to embody. Constantly having a guard up was exhausting.

A loud banging interrupted her focus and, startled, she looked up. Her eyes narrowed and an exasperated breath expelled from her lips. Even on a holiday weekend she couldn't avoid him. House continued to hit the glass of her door with his cane, holding up a white paper bag and feigning an inability to work door handles. He yelled, voice loud enough to drown the banging, "Cripple here! What kind of scrooge won't help a cripple during the holidays? This is like a scene straight out of Oliver Twist!"

Cuddy held the door open for him, rolling her eyes as he walked by her, close enough to "accidentally" brush his arm against her breasts. "I think you're confusing Dickens' novels."

"Ha! Got you to say 'Dickens.' And what's the difference? Don't both kids die in the end?" he glanced over his shoulder, dropping the white bag on her desk with a thud. The force sent papers flying off the table, the sheets slowly drifting to the floor. She counted to three, took a deep breath, and let the door swing closed.

"If you mean Tiny Tim and Oliver Twist, no, I'm pretty sure they both lived happily ever after. Not like you'd know what that means."

"Bookworm," he threw back at her, leaning his cane against her desk and settling down in one of the two seats facing her chair. He looked like he hadn't seen the inside of a bathroom for days, but at least he didn't smell like it.

"Reading is a skill. I know it's hard, but you should learn it someday. House, why are you here?" Cuddy walked up next to him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at him. The movement only drew his attention to her breasts. There was a long pause before he could drag his eyes away and meet her glare, a pause she noted with some hidden amusement.

"Just out for a morning run, thought I'd drop by and see if there were any clinic patients that needed some attention."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot you're training for the New York Marathon, on account of the handicapped parking space you demanded."

"Don't worry, one day they'll change the rules so elephants can run too. Or cows. Whichever one you find more flattering."

"Mm, the irresistible House charm at work, I see." Cuddy rolled her eyes, again, and dropped her arms, turning to walk around the desk. She didn't have to look back to know House was watching her ass the whole time. "Why are you here?"

House leaned forward, grabbing the white paper bag and upending the contents on her desk. He made an effort to scatter as many of the neat piles of paper and files as possible. Two wrapped sandwiches tumbled out, one dripping with grease. "I was hungry."

Cuddy realized her mouth was open and quickly shut it. House had brought her lunch. She sat down, stunned into silence and not quite sure how to react. For all she knew, her "sandwich" could be a vibrator in a hot dog bun. She wrinkled her nose, taking the bag from his hand and slipping it underneath the sandwich that was most definitely his. The grease had already left a mark on the wood. He eagerly tore into his lunch, peeling back the translucent wrapping and revealing a meat monstrosity.

"House, it looks like you're eating Noah's Ark. Leave any survivors?" She tentatively reached for her own sandwich, afraid to see what he had brought her.

"Bible-licious," he purposely said with a mouthful. Blue eyes watched her manicured fingers carefully pull off the tape, unwrapping with the precision and focus of a surgeon. He swallowed, licking the Russian dressing from the corner of his mouth with a flick of his tongue. An action that didn't go entirely unnoticed by Cuddy. "Relax. It's turkey. Avocado, cucumbers, sprouts, tomatoes, House vinaigrette."

Relieved, Cuddy laughed and met his eyes. Blue-gray twinkled, amused and touched by this small gesture. "Are you sure this isn't tainted with House 'special sauce'?"

He waited, chewing slowly. She sunk her teeth into the fresh baked baguette, taking a small bite. Her eyes fluttered closed and a small moan escaped her lips. He froze, staring at the way her fingertips pressed against those full red lips, tongue catching the lingering drops of vinaigrette. This was so much better than porn. He swallowed, noting that her mouth was full and her attention distracted. "Cuddles, if that's what you wanted all along, we can skip lunch. Talk about a cheap date."

Her eyes snapped open and she arched an eyebrow. She took her time, enjoying every satisfying moment of that bite, before she responded. Her voice was gentle, tinged with a repressed echo of hope that undercut the forced playful tone, "Is that what this is? A date?"

"Talk about low standards..." he muttered, taking another bite. She let a small smile emerge, turning back to her sandwich. He didn't exactly deny or refute the "date" label. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was the best she could have expected. Sometimes there are no right or wrong answers, only the ones perfect for the moment.

**Not done. Obvi. More to come...**


	6. Chapter 6

**I apologize that this chapter is kind of all over the place. Thought I should get it up before a) the new episode of House and b) before Inauguration festivities get in full swing.**

**Enjoy!**

The vibration broke Cuddy's concentration. She tore her eyes away from the open document on her computer monitor to focus on the Blackberry. The status light flashed red, indicating a message. Her manicured nails worked over the keys as she pulled up the most recent text. Directions from House to the "restaurant," more likely some hole-in-the-wall dive where she'd have an easier time finding rats than a healthy meal. She rolled her eyes and smiled, pushing away from the desk and leaning back in her chair to stretch.

They just fell into a routine that seemed familiar enough to be comfortable, and new enough to be exciting. At first, the hospital staff assumed House had lost a bet. He would arrive in the clinic, steal a red lollipop, and play video games while insulting the nurses. But everyone could tell the comments were for show, his heart wasn't in it. The man was distracted, and not by the effort of blowing up aliens. As soon as Cuddy finished her appointment, he'd either burst into her office or she'd come out and meet him. Their daily lunches became a common occurrence. After the initial whispers and stares, the curious interest and the wagging tongues disappeared. It was, after all, never a question of _if _but rather of when.

Wilson didn't mind House's absence in the cafeteria. It had saved him a good deal of money since House had started his "dates" with Cuddy. Wilson smiled and slid his tray over, giving a little bit more room to the adorable nurse from pediatrics who had asked to join him. A good deal of money better spent on dinner with "Michelle."

House was in the midst of demolishing a giant plate of chili cheese fries when the door opened and Cuddy walked in from the cold. The low temperature had brought out some color in her cheeks, the flush highlighting just how much like porcelain her skin looked in contrast to her raven black hair. She arched a perfect brow as she took in her surroundings, slowly unraveling the scarf around her neck. House waited until their eyes met before he made a show of stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth.

Cuddy slid into the booth seat across from House, setting her coat, scarf, and purse next to her. She cleared her throat and leaned forward, perfectly aware of the view she was affording him.

"If that's all they serve here, I'm leaving."

"Cuddles, it's what they're known for. That, and their turkey chili," he smiled, wiping his fingers on the crumpled napkin next to the plate before nudging the fries toward her.

"House, some of us would like to live to see our 50s. Who am I kidding? If the drugs and alcohol are any indication, longevity is not one of your main concerns."

"If the size of your ass is any indication, telling the truth is not one of your main concerns. Now open wide." House held up a couple of fries, dripping with melted cheese and the aforementioned infamous turkey chili. He opened his mouth wide to demonstrate what she should be doing, blue eyes twinkling as he guided the morsel toward her lips.

Cuddy smirked and leaned forward, pressing her chest against the table top and leaving very little to the imagination. The angle, combined with the startling v-cut of her shirt, gave House an image that rivaled anything he had ever paid to see. His attention was completely and utterly focused on staring at Cuddy's fantastic rack. He didn't even notice what she was doing until he felt her lips close around his fingers. She took her time, licking the cheese and chili from his fingertips, before pulling back and coyly dabbing her napkin against her lips.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Cuddy opened her menu, barely registering the words as she glanced at House over the top of the laminated paper. He was still staring, a faint smile on his face. Their eyes met and she noticed that the spark between the two of them had become a flame. Neither looked away, both refusing to back down.

The sudden appearance of the waitress brought Cuddy's focus back to the more pressing matter at hand. She ordered the turkey chili and, after much ribbing from House, agreed to eat part of his burger. His selling point was that the burgers here were better than Krazy Jim's from back in Michigan.

They laughed, reviewed the nuances of his most recent case, and debated whether or not House could talk Cuddy and Thirteen into becoming overnight internet stars. The food arrived and Cuddy had to admit, the turkey chili was actually very good. And the burger? It was no blimpy burger, but House seemed to enjoy it a great deal. Thankfully, her phone didn't ring until the end of lunch. She swallowed the bite she had stolen of House's burger when he pretended to "not pay attention." A kidney had suddenly become available and a room and team were being assembled for the transplant.

House watched the transformation. Cuddy became Dr. Cuddy, authoritative and in charge, with an answer to every logistical problem. With a firm voice, she laid down the arrangements necessary and made it very clear that she expected it all to be done by the time she returned. House used what was left of his bun to sop up the remnants of Cuddy's chili. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him, before turning icy and reciting more directions. He reached for his wallet and threw some cash on the table. He reached for his cane and stood, waiting for her to slide from the booth.

Cuddy was still on the phone dealing with details for the transplant when she realized House was helping her with her coat. She relaxed a bit and mouthed her thanks, loosely wrapping her scarf around her neck and grabbing her purse. Cuddy finally hung up and dropped the phone into her bag, running her fingers through her hair and taking a deep breath. Without thinking, she reached for House and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, fingers softly gripping the leather of his jacket. House, thankfully, didn't acknowledge the disappearing physical boundary between them. As they walked back to the hospital, House asked, "So Cuddles, doing anything for New Years?"

Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, gave a performance worthy of an Oscar. She flirted with her body language, let the husky rasp in her voice encourage the preening of the older gentlemen in the room, and she made no effort to hide her bare ring finger. By 11, her date had already enjoyed one too many martinis and the forced smile on her face was starting to ache. She excused herself from conversation and headed to the restroom, well aware the men she had left behind were watching her hips. They wouldn't resume their discussion of the new administration's choice for Surgeon General until she had left their sight. Mission Accomplished.

Cuddy closed the door behind her and leaned against it, taking a deep breath and looking herself over in the mirror. She looked good, there was no denying that. Her hair was up, revealing her long and slender neck. Drop diamond earrings, dark eye make-up, subtle lipstick. The dress had what appeared to be a cowl neck in the front, giving just a hint of cleavage. However, when she had removed her jacket upon arrival and turned around, the men in the room swallowed a collective groan. The back was completely bare, from her neck down the smooth and toned expanse of her back to just below her waist. The dress was not form-fitting, but it clung to her curves when she moved and gave the room enough skin that she wouldn't be surprised if the hospital had 5 or 6 new donors clamoring for a private meeting by week's end.

She pulled her Blackberry from her clutch and tried not to feel a little disappointed when she noted no missed calls and no new messages. She scrolled through the text history and reread the exchange that took place right before Dr. Harrison picked her up for the New Year's Eve fundraiser.

_What are you wearing? A naughty nurse outfit, I bet._

_Is someone regretting his "no" RSVP?_

_Never. I see more of your funbags at work than that room will see tonight._

_How would you know what that room will see tonight?_

_Good point. We both know you can't hold your liquor. I hope they youtube this._

_Doubt it. They don't know what youtube is._

_Where is this party again? Some whorehouse in Queens?_

_A brownstone in Manhattan. One of our donors wants to impress some friends._

_Not a whorehouse and want to impress people? Why were you invited again?_

_You're incorrigible. _

_You're turned-on._

_You would be too if you could see this dress._

_My offer still stands._

_Right. Because I am so tempted by Cheez-Whiz on saltines._

_Many women have fallen victim to that brilliant combination._

_Blow-up dolls don't count. GtG, Harrison is here._

He hadn't responded after that. She sighed and tucked the phone away, pulling out her lipstick to reapply. She double checked her image in the mirror, plastered the smile back on, and walked out... and straight into Dr. Harrison. Before she could register her surprise, he pushed her out of the way and rushed into the bathroom. The door had barely just clicked closed before she could hear him getting sick. Great. Dr. Harrison had been the perfect date for this fundraiser because he was charming, attractive, smart, and closeted. Without his presence, Cuddy didn't want to think about who would offer to be her New Year's kiss.

She waited in the hallway for Dr. Harrison's reappearance. His tie was a little loose, but he was still impeccably dressed. He apologized and insisted that she stay and enjoy herself while he left early. Slightly relieved, Cuddy made him promise to let her at least help him catch a cab. They made their rounds, saying goodbye and complimenting the host on a wonderful event.

As Harrison stumbled down the steps, Cuddy slipped an arm around his waist and felt him lean into her for support. It didn't take long to catch a cab, particularly because of what she was wearing. He gave her a delicate kiss on the cheek and slurred promises of making it up to her. His eyes grew heavy and he leaned back against the torn cloth of the cab's backseat as she gave the driver his hotel. Brake lights disappeared around the corner and she rubbed her arms, the cold air suddenly registering just how cold it was. Her evening jacket was more fashionable than it was practical.

She heard him before she saw him, his voice trailing through the darkness and causing shivers that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature. "How can anyone have a lower tolerance than you?"

Cuddy slowly turned and reveled in the feeling of House's eyes devouring her. His gaze trailed along her bare and slender legs, over her toned body, before meeting hers. After the past few weeks, she couldn't say she was entirely surprised by this turn of events. He sat on his bike, parked in front of a red curb. She took her time walking over to him, and even without looking, she knew his eyes hadn't left her.

"Ask anyone at the hospital, and I believe it's common knowledge that I have pretty high tolerance. Especially when it comes to you, House," she murmured, coming to a stop at the edge of the curb. "Why are you here? I thought you had 'better things to do,' or did the cable go out?"

"Cuddy, keep talking about my masturbatory habits and I'll start thinking you want to participate. If you're that interested, all you have to do is ask." House leaned towards her, offering his helmet.

"You already fantasize about me. I think that's all the participation I need." She laughed softly and took the helmet, fingers brushing against his hand. "What am I going to do with this?"

"Use your imagination. Have a good time?"

"Absolutely. Until Harrison threw up and I sent him, and my New Year's kiss, home."

"Don't worry, I'll make some phone calls and we'll find someone to bid on your virginity. Oh wait, wrong woman. That's probably why your date pretended to get sick."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove. He grabbed her arm to keep from losing balance. She let him pull her closer as cheers erupted from inside the brownstone, the group bursting into "Auld Lang Syne."

Her fingers bunched his leather jacket, as his hand traveled along her arm, dropping to rest at her waist. He pulled her closer, eyes focused on her lips.

"Happy New Years, Cuddy," he muttered before his mouth bore down on hers. Cuddy felt her heart race, felt his warm mouth against hers, lips demanding and urgent. Maybe House could change after all.

**This chapter was a little rushed, but I promise, as this story comes to an end (finally), it'll all come together. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Short one. Enjoy!**

Cuddy groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead. The headache throbbed, the dull pulsing more of an annoyance than a serious pain. She buried her face into the pillow, inhaled, and her eyes shot open. These were not the Egyptian cotton of her own bedding. As she tried to muddle through the fog of her minor hangover, her breath caught in her throat. She could hear water running in the bathroom. Slowly, she pushed herself up and it was only then that she noticed she was, thankfully, still dressed in last night's outfit. With the addition of a black and red leather motorcycle jacket. Swinging her legs from under the covers, she rubbed both hands over her face. Like this wasn't going to complicate things.

House bit back a groan as he slid down into the tub, hot water surrounding his leg and somewhat easing the sharp pain. He had popped two vicodin moments earlier, and he waited for the heat and the painkillers to deliver the wonderful pain-free cocktail to his nerves. The hotel tub was significantly bigger than the one he had at home, and his clothes littered the spacious tiled floor. He leaned his head back and thought back to the night before. His original plan had been to burst into the brownstone, cause a scene and thoroughly embarrass Cuddy. Plan A took a backseat to the pain in his leg. When he had arrived, the hour plus ride in the cold had caused his leg to stiffen and he was slowly rubbing the pain away when Cuddy and Harrison had stumbled out. She looked stunning and he couldn't help himself when the clock struck midnight. Afterwards, he had suggested they grab some drinks and she had all too eagerly agreed.

She hadn't been kidding when she told him it'd been a while since she had taken shots. Cuddy slowly stood and her eyes surveying the room, pausing at her discarded shoes. Her discarded _expensive_ shoes, one of the pair missing a heel. She took a deep breath, employing the anger management methods she had learned over years of babysitting House. Her mind flashed to memories of last night. They had ridden his motorcycle to a dive bar he knew, probably the only place in the city that wasn't packed or charging an obnoxious cover. She remembered wrapping her arms around him, legs straddling the bike and her body pressed against his. It was intimate and personal, this simple task. And an incredible turn-on. House between her legs, feeling his hips shift everytime the bike turned, the vibrating of the engine beneath them, his muscles tensing everytime she clutched him closer (which was a lot considering how reckless of a driver he was). She smiled and listened for the water to cut off, making her way to the bathroom door.

Her drinks had progressed from gin and tonics to shots, while he just downed glass after glass of scotch. What had begun as an effort to loosen up quickly dissolved into who could imbibe more liquid courage. The New Years kiss was completely different than what had taken place at her house. There was no pain, no vulnerability, no mutual weakness that found comfort in an equally lonely and hurt partner. Last night had found the two of them on the brink of something new and exciting, teetering on the edge, neither of them willing to be the first to fall. The night had the promise of a new direction in this relationship, but there was an unspoken hesitation in who would lead and who would follow. Which, in turn, led to the stint at the bar.

Surprisingly, House had been the one to cut them off. The two of them left the bar, and when House noticed the small shivers that ran through Cuddy's body, he had shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. The black and red leather engulfed her, swallowing her petite frame. She murmured her thanks and slid her arm around his as they walked, her fingers rubbing his bicep, drunkenly fascinated by the taut muscle beneath his shirt.

They had made it only a few blocks before they gave in and hailed a cab. She had waited while he slid into the backseat, and he never once felt rushed or embarrassed by the extra time he needed to get his leg comfortable. The ride was quiet and uneventful. Cuddy tucked her bare legs underneath her and wrapped her arm around House's again. She felt him tense and when he didn't move, she almost pulled away, regretful of making herself seem so available, so desperate. Instead, he shifted and gently placed his hand on her thigh, slowly rubbing his thumb in circles. The thin material of her dress did nothing to stop the heat from his touch. It was subtle and soft, but she was attuned to his touch and her attraction to him peaked at a new intensity. She shifted, inching closer to him and digging her fingers into his arm, encouraging him. Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping her mouth and her eyes fluttered closed.

House was entirely focused on the warmth of her body beneath his hand. Her thigh was firm as his thumb stroked circles and he felt a tightening in his groin as she slowly eased her legs apart. The cab ride ended all too quickly, and the pair eased themselves from the backseat, reluctantly. Thankfully, there was a room available and House convinced Cuddy that if she paid, she'd be more likely to get a reimbursement from the hospital for this "business" expense than she would. After all, she did attend the fundraiser and a couple hundred dollars was a drop in the bucket compared to what her little black dress had probably brought in tonight.

Exhaustion had crept up on them in the elevator, and they were in the room for moments before collapsing on the bed. Cuddy slid under the covers, curled on her side. House lay sprawled above the sheets, on his back. They each lay on their side of the bed, keenly aware of the small distance between their bodies, the small distance that seemed to stretch on for miles after the many moments of intimacy that had studded the night. As the darkness of dreams consumed them, they both silently willed the other to reach across the space and initiate contact. Since the liquid courage they'd drained earlier had begun to wear off, neither had the bravado needed to bridge that gap, both physically and emotionally.

The hot water was steaming the bathroom and House was drifting off into a drug-induced glorious haze when the door swung open. Cuddy wrinkled her nose at the sight of his clothes strewn everywhere. The heat was overwhelming, and she stood in the doorway, shrugging off his thick leather jacket and her thinner one. As she turned to hang them up in the closet, House, for the first time, saw the back of her dress. All of a sudden, he was self-conscious of just how exposed he was in the tub and how, if Cuddy came any closer, more awkward the situation could become.

She brushed her hair from her face and stepped into the tiled room, closing the door behind her.

"Hey Cuddy, where's the rest of that dress?"

"I don't think it's your size."

"Anything is my size after your big ass stretches it out."

Cuddy shook her head and made her way to the toilet, setting the lid down before sitting and demurely crossing her legs. House watched with great interest.

"That's sweet. If you keep talking about my ass like that, I'm going to start to thinking you secretly like me."

"Hate to burst your delusional bubble, but I don't think it's that big of a secret."

Cuddy, faced with the honesty of his answer, lost her train of thought. A smile crept onto her face and she bought herself time by standing and smoothing down her dress. Still distracted, she avoided eye contact until she could find her tongue again. "Well hurry up, I need to shower. I smell like tequila."

"Your true scent emerges. You can always join me. We'll be doing our part to save the environment by conserving water. After all, isn't the hospital trying to go 'green'?"

"Nice try, House." Cuddy smirked and walked to the door, swaying her hips a little more because she could feel his eyes on her. She opened the door and glanced back over her shoulder, throwing it out there, "I'll consider it for next time. Now hurry up and finish." She made sure to emphasize the last part, arching a brow and dropping her gaze. She made it very clear that she wasn't completely oblivious to the effect she had on him. Before House could make an inappropriate and overtly sexual retort, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

**Bear with me, some of you might like the next few chapters and some of you might not. Let's just say there's a lot, a lot, a lot of unresolved sexual tension coming.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for being so patient, here's the next chapter.**

House leaned against the railing, watching Cuddy and the new donor chit chat in the lobby. She leaned over and placed her hand on his arm, initiating contact and implying interest. House furrowed his brow, waiting for her next move. She had run through the same routine with each new donor that had strutted through the PPTH doors. They would talk in her office, she'd give them a tour of the hospital that always ended with a visit to the pediatric ward. House scoffed. No one could resist dying kids and he couldn't understand why. Evolution dictated that the weak die to strengthen the gene pool. But if the world followed theories of "survival of the fittest," he'd be out of a job.

Cuddy and the donors would then parade through the lobby, she'd flirt, her body language would suggest something more than a platonic, professional relationship. They'd part, he'd write a giant check, and she'd be "too busy" for lunch and/or dinner. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Cuddy knew House was watching. He had, thankfully, stayed out of trouble during these donor visits. In return, she had pretended not to notice when he sent one of the ducklings in his place for clinic duty. She went through the motions on auto-pilot, the same speech falling from her tongue. While she injected false enthusiasm into the rehearsed words, her mind wandered to House, as it inevitably had over the past couple of weeks. House had found a new case to occupy his restless self. He immersed himself with a focus and dedication that Cuddy secretly admired, though his refusal to obey hospital rules and his complete lack of ethics almost drove her to strangle him. To him, the ends justified the means. A Machiavellian approach that could, occasionally, reward a doctor's efforts. An approach that often had Cuddy trying to justify if the greater good was actually worth it.

"I would love to discuss the opportunities a contribution could afford the hospital. Perhaps over lunch?"

The inflection at the end of his sentence brought Cuddy back to the conversation. He had asked a question and she hadn't been paying attention. Thinking quickly, Cuddy looked passed him and excused herself. Hurrying to the nurse's station, she pretended to consult Brenda over a patient's file. Brenda, used to her boss's performances during donor visits, played along without batting an eyelash. A minute or two passed, Cuddy mouthed a silent thank you, and turned back around. She brushed her bangs from her eyes and tilted her head slightly to the side, placing a hand on the man's arm again. Grey-blue eyes peered from under dark and long lashes, her lips pulled into a coy smile. "I'm so sorry, what were you saying?"

"Not at all. A Dean of Medicine is bound to be busy, I'm just pleased you had time to show me around. Let me repay you with lunch." This time it wasn't a question. Cuddy hesitated before responding. The brief pause between his statement and hers did not go unnoticed. He assumed it was because his confidence and aggressiveness had appealed to her in a way that went beyond the professional. A woman like her spent all day in charge and she probably needed a man to turn the reins over to when she went home. In all actuality, Cuddy was weighing the pros and cons of the situation. His cockiness wasn't something she hadn't experienced before. It was a familiar trait in the high rollers that came in and it was an attitude she had easily crushed many times before. Dr. Lisa Cuddy did not need a knight in shining armor.

Her hesitation resulted from wondering if House would stop by for lunch. The same hesitation she involuntarily experienced when anyone had asked since New Years. The disappointment she felt had started to wane. Even after he had solved his case with some bizarre theory that couldn't possibly be founded on medical fact, he still hadn't made any effort to continue their daily dining ritual. And she'd be damned if she let him know how much those lunches had meant to her.

House scowled when Cuddy rested her hand on the man's arm. Her proximity to him was closer than appropriate. She tilted her head and House noted the pause in conversation. And then it was a whirlwind of motion. She turned and disappeared into her office while he stood waiting in the lobby, hands in his pant pockets. Cuddy reemerged with her peacoat on. Today, it was ivory and stopped just above her knees, belted around her tiny waist. He watched as she glanced up and purposely made eye contact, arching a brow and challenging him to stop her. By the time the two had walked outside, House was already in the elevator on his way down.

–

She tried hard to pay attention, she really did. The food had reminded him of his travels overseas. In fact, every topic in conversation somehow led to another anecdote about his fantastic life and amazing accomplishments. She tried hard to keep her eyes from glazing over. House was probably burning down the hospital right now. Otherwise, at this point in the meal, House usually would have already made his appearance with some make-believe reason for his presence. There was no other explanation for his absence. She imagined the charred and smoking ruins that awaited her return.

His "accidental" interruptions occurred with such frequency that she expected them. Half the time, the medical maladies he spouted off were meant to remind her of his superior intelligence. He knew and she knew that the symptoms he recited, the tests he requested, and the approval he required all had nothing to do with one another. It ended the same way every time. Her date felt like the third wheel, acutely aware of the banter between the two and the way her eyes flashed fire when he challenged her. She would be reminded, again, of how boring any other man was in contrast to House. Cuddy was surprised, though not in a good way, that House had yet to burst in. And as the donor's tone drifted off to silence and his eyes slid from hers to meet the man behind her, she knew she had spoken too soon.

"Oh, didn't mean to interrupt. I just saw Lisa over here and wanted to say hello." House smiled and made his way next to the table, causing a scene with mutterings of "Excuse me, cripple coming through." Cuddy tried hard to hide a relieved smile.

"Dr. Gregory House, nice to meet you." Both men shook hands, fake grins plastered on their faces. Cuddy rolled her eyes. She wouldn't be surprised if they laid them out on the table and compared sizes.

"House..." It was a warning. And like every other warning she had ever given him, he ignored it.

"Dr. Cuddy, it's too soon after the surgery to be eating this much!" He gasped with feigned concern, nodding his head toward her half-empty plate. A look of confusion flashed over the donor's face before House leaned over and conspiratorially whispered, "Gastric bypass. You should have seen her before. All the late nights and bags of Cheetos. Talk about wide load." Though his whisper was loud enough to peak the interest of the surrounding diners.

"House... is there something you need?"

"No, I was just out for a casual stroll and happened to see you. You look fantastic. I bet you can't even see the stretch marks."

"Well, I did go to the best. I mean you're a testament to the work Dr. Harrison can do. You do look remarkably like a real man. After that, stretch marks shouldn't be a problem." Cuddy smirked, raising her chin. If he thought the presence of a donor was enough to keep her restrained, he had another thing coming.

"I hit that and she's just angry I didn't call her after," House murmured, not-so-quietly, out of the corner of his mouth. Cuddy leaned forward, her favorite move, giving House a fantastic view down the front of her shirt. The donor observed the exchange with some amusement. House stared, Cuddy watched him stare, and the donor didn't know who to look at.

"Who's going to believe you 'hit' this? You can't even hit a car with a bat."

"It's true, your ass is the size of a car."

"Too bad you definitely don't have a bat." Cuddy dropped her eyes to his crotch, arching a brow and emphasizing her point with a smirk.

"Maybe you'd remember if you weren't such a lush. 'Best night of your life' is what you told me. Don't let her tell you otherwise, she's a firecracker in bed."

"Only one part of that statement is true. Let me give you a hint. I am pretty sure I can outdrink you." Both Cuddy and House had directed some of their comments to the donor, but try as he might, he couldn't get a word in.

"Remind me to leave the roofies at home next time. You're much more fun when you're feisty."

"Ah, the key ingredient to your 'hit it and quit it' cocktail is revealed."

"You've never complained about my 'hit it and quit it' before. Admit it, you're insatiable. You know, you can't always get what you want."

"House, I _always_ get what I want," Cuddy stated before waving down the waitress for the check. The donor, eager to show off again now that her attention wasn't solely focused on House, slid his card into the leather booklet. He didn't even bother to look at the total. She thanked him again for lunch and stood, gathering her belongings to leave. Cuddy made her excuses and departed, both men staring as she made her way toward the door. The donor was still staring when House settled into the chair Cuddy had just vacated.

"She doesn't put out after the first day. Me, on the other hand... after a piece of chocolate cake, I'm as easy as a drunk Lindsay Lohan." The donor just laughed as House added dessert to the bill.

–

Cuddy suspiciously surveyed her office. She knew she had turned the lights off when she left, and yet her desk lamp threw a soft glow into the dark room. This was probably why House had been late to lunch. The effort and time he put into staging these ridiculous "surprises" were better spent in the clinic or on a case or you know, doing his job.

She took her time, making mental note of anything that looked misplaced, any detail that seemed different. Her heels were soft on the carpet and she approached her desk with slight trepidation. Then she saw the slip of paper and for the umpteenth time that day, felt a smile reluctantly spread over her lips. Cuddy pulled her leather gloves off, finger by finger, and slowly walked around the desk. Bare fingers skimmed along the wood before she picked up the "2-for-1 McDonald's Value Meal" coupon. She set it back down on the tabletop before sitting down in her chair with a sigh. House.

Her chair suddenly gave way, falling apart beneath her. Cuddy yelped as she was thrown to the floor, her chair now in pieces beneath her, behind her, everywhere. House.

–

House slipped his headphones on, closing his eyes and waiting for the smooth guitar chords to wash over him. He got guitar chords alright... the guitar chords of some bullshit Disney group. His eyes snapped open and he struggled to his feet, ripping the headphones off and throwing them onto the chair. The CD player ejected _The Jonas Brothers_. House tore the handwritten note taped to the stand. Bold and authoritative, her script was unmatched and unmistakable. "This is not a game."

House rolled his eyes, crumpling the note and leaving it on the floor. His cane remained untouched as he limped his way to his desk, stunned at the image that greeted him. There, on the monitor, was what he could only hope to be a picture of Cuddy. The woman's face had been blurred and pixelated beyond recognition. She sat on the edge of a desk in what appeared to be Cuddy's office. The tight skirt rode up and revealed smooth and toned legs. The way she perched to the side was extremely suggestive, her legs slightly spread, one foot firmly planted on the floor and the other lifted. Her heels were stilettos and dangerously tall. It wasn't the skin that was turning him on, it was the mental fantasies the image was invoking. Her arms were crossed beneath her chest, shirt unbuttoned and revealing the edge of a lacy bra. The neckline plummeted dangerously and suggested that if she were to uncross those arms, the shirt might fall completely open and show all.

House sat down, biting back a groan as his jeans pulled tight over his groin. He then noted the picture was one in a series of two. Eagerly, he moved his mouse over the "next" arrow and clicked. In a flash, the picture was replaced by one that had the face unblurred. House nearly died. His mother's head had been photoshopped onto the body. Animated text danced across the image. Cuddy _would_ pick the most obnoxious animation. He waited as the dancing letters arranged themselves in order.

"This is not a game because you will lose."

House laughed and glanced at the closed office door before clicking back to the previous picture. As his hands unbuckled his belt, House kept thinking about her note. He could lose any number of things. His clothes. This self-imposed celibacy. The game was not on the list.

Cuddy watched with some embarrassment. She had come upstairs to see House's expression. What she did not expect to find was him having a "private" moment in his office. She didn't want to know how often he had these moments, especially when he was supposed to be working. Cuddy pivoted, heels clicking as she walked back to the elevator. The heat could be from the flush that stained her face pink or from how she felt about the knowledge that House was thoroughly enjoying that picture of her.

The elevator doors slid closed on Lisa Cuddy's smile.

**Review review review. Hint: Reviews encourage me to write the next chapter sooner rather than later. Then, I feel like someone's actually reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the delay. I've hit a writer's block. The original ending I had in mind didn't seem right. Trying to rework it all. Any ideas/suggestions?  
**

Cuddy leaned back against the soft cushions of her couch and sighed. She let the paperwork drop into her lap. The steaming mug of tea was warm in her hand and her eyes focused on the wisps drifting up from the hot liquid. She had left early, knowing she'd be able to do more work at home, away from House's inevitable appearance in her office. The picture was juvenile and something House would no doubt have done, though she refused to admit the satisfaction she got in catching him "in the act." She thought they were finally moving in the right direction. Baby steps were fine, as long as there was some movement. Something beyond this stagnation.

They sniped at each other, they poked and prodded and annoyed. But their actions were all reserved. Nothing was drastic because, this way, there'd be no risk, no chance of failing and falling. House had shown more vulnerability and openness in the past few weeks than he had since the infarction. Even then, he covered it up and hid behind cruelty, abrasiveness, and insults. There had been none during their lunch dates, none during New Years. He had almost seemed… happy.

Cuddy took a sip of the Earl Grey, her eyes closed as the dark tea slid down her throat and warmed her body. That was all the work she'd do tonight. Still holding the mug in one hand, she laid the stack of papers on her coffee table and swept the blanket from her legs. The loss of cover brought an involuntary chill and she brought the tea closer, as if the steam could heat her body.

Hot and cold, opposite and conflicting ends of a spectrum. A wry smile played at her lips. Just like House. He'd be hot, he'd be cold; he was every temperature on the thermometer. A notorious mooch, he had paid for lunch a number of times. A notorious prankster, he had destroyed her chair and very nearly injured her. He was a man who could refuse to take a leap of faith into the unknown because he couldn't predict or control the consequences. The same man who, more often than not, would risk the health of patients with asinine tests and treatments, just to see what the consequences could be.

She slipped her feet from under her and stood, leaving the comfort of her couch. Both of Cuddy's hands now cradled the mug, bringing it to her lips every few steps for a small sip. She left the lights in her living room on, making a half-hearted promise to come back and turn them off later. She was halfway down the hallway toward the kitchen when she heard the front door lock disengage. Rolling her eyes, she refused to turn around.

House told himself this didn't count as breaking in. He had intended to go for a long ride after work, but without thinking, he had taken the familiar back streets to Cuddy's. He had only intended to drive by, but he found himself taking the same familiar walk up to Cuddy's porch and her front door. His cane was still clipped to the side of the bike.

He stood in darkness, staring through her front window into her living room. The blanket lay on the couch, disheveled and cast aside. The stack of papers that lay on the coffee table was neat and tidy, orderly like everything else in her life. He considered himself chaos and unpredictability and his goal was to wreck minor havoc in her by-the-book world. Unfortunately, he found her lure irresistible and whenever they spent a prolonged amount of time together, he fell into her routine. She was a constant. Cuddy represented stability, comfort, no-risk. And when he found himself entertaining the idea of falling into that—into her—he pulled back.

House shrugged off obligations and responsibilities, anything that encouraged others to set expectations for him. No expectations, no letting anyone down. He was a selfish bastard, that much was true and there was no getting around it. Being a single selfish bastard and being an attached selfish bastard were two different things. House, as crude and rebellious as he was, would never pull Cuddy into that mess.

He reached down and winced, sharp pain shooting through his thigh. He'd pay for not using his cane later. House gave the potted plant a gentle "nudge," knocking it over. Soil spilled all over the porch and his fingers snatched up the spare key. "Whoopsie, clumsy me." He smiled and gave the pot an extra push, watching it slowly roll off the porch and drop into her flower garden, leaving a trail of dirt in its wake. Her lights were on, she was still up. It was basically an invitation.

Cuddy was rinsing her mug in the sink when the door closed. She paused and turned the water off, waiting for the thud of his cane. The footsteps were clearly his, quick-slow-quick-slow. Even without his cane, his steps were distinguishable. She exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath. It was just House. Her heart raced, pulse quickened, mind distracted and speeding at a hundred miles an hour. It was just House.

House was not a big man, but he filled the doorway. He watched her. Cuddy was meticulous, every action she took was well-thought out and perfectly executed from beginning to end. They didn't talk. Neither acknowledged the other's presence, though the tension in the air crackled. She moved from the fridge to the counter, open and closed drawers and cabinets. House was less concerned with what she was doing than how she was doing it.

She had changed into yoga pants and, like everything else she owned, they hugged her body. She had a great ass. He tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes widening in appreciation. Strike that. She had a fantastic ass. Cuddy turned suddenly and House let his gaze travel up her body, taking his time. He was still staring at her chest when she pushed by him, handing him a plate with a turkey sandwich. "Hungry." It was a statement, not a question.

He glanced at the sandwich before turning and following her back into the living room. House inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth to fight off the pain. He settled onto the couch next to her, stretching out his leg and setting his plate on top of stack of her papers. Cuddy frowned and opened her mouth, but promptly closed it when she saw House pop the cap off his pill bottle, dry swallowing two Vicodins.

"Where's your cane?" She leaned back and took a bite of her sandwich, still staring at his plate. Knowing House, he probably stuck his gum on the underside. Ruin a plate and destroy some of the hospital's tax forms in one move? Sounded about right.

"Before I get myself in trouble, what cane are you referring to?" House smirked and feigned injury when Cuddy slapped him in the shoulder.

"Shut up. You know what I'm talking about. Eat your sandwich." House grabbed his sandwich, leaving his plate in place. He took an obscenely large bite, dropping crumbs all over her floor and down the front of his shirt. Cuddy ignored him. House turned on the TV and flipped through the channels.

"No porn? What do you do on those cold, lonely nights?"

"Who says I'm alone?"

"The 'Rabbit' doesn't count." He laughed around a giant mouthful, trying not to think about Cuddy romping around with some guy. The sandwich wasn't bad. She had even used mayo, and not the bullshit non-fat kind. She smiled. House hadn't said or done anything awful. He was trying. A couple of minutes of channel surfing passed by before House realized Cuddy wasn't going to take the bait. He finally settled for an episode of _Nip/Tuck_.

The two ate in silence. During the first commercial break, Cuddy cleared her throat and asked if he wanted something to drink. He mumbled and started flipping through the channels again. She left the room with an exaggerated sigh and House stopped clicking the remote. Their earlier dialogue had seemed forced. There was something off between the two of them. Rather than address the issue, he had deferred to traditional ploys like sexual innuendos, references to her personal life, comments about anatomy. He changed back to FX and waited for the show to come back on, alone in his thoughts.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," muttered Cuddy under her breath, voice dripping with sarcasm. She held a bottle of water in each hand. The last thing either of them needed right now was alcohol. Deep breath. She inhaled and held it, using the techniques she had learned at yoga to collect herself.

House tore his eyes away from the television screen and he stared at the bottles.

"Seriously?" He watched as she came closer, hips subtly swaying and an arm extended, offering him a bottle.

"Shut up." The bottle dropped into his lap, dangerously close to damaging important goods. Cuddy arched a brow and smiled, giving him the look she usually reserved for donors who had overstepped their bounds. Patronizing and threatening, that one look had emasculated men who built their lives and reputations on intimidation. He felt himself smiling back. The idea of Cuddy dominating him was kind of a turn-on.

She settled back onto the couch, partly tucking her legs beneath her. House watched from the corner of his eye as she pulled the blanket over her body, leaning back and snuggling down. She sighed, comfortable and content in the moment, briefly closing her eyes. Her lips were parted and her dark lashes lay flush against her cheeks. House gave up trying to focus on _Nip/Tuck_ and turned to stare. Despite feeling the weight of his gaze on her, Cuddy refused to open her eyes.

"Brr. It's getting cold in here, there must be some Toros in the atmosphere."

"Shut up. You would know lines from a high school cheerleading movie." Cuddy laughed, but she still refused to open her eyes. She made a big show of untucking a corner of the blanket and reaching over, gingerly laying it on House's leg. House watched, waiting. When he was absolutely sure her eyes were still closed, he grabbed the corner of the blanket and yanked.

The cold air hit Cuddy and her eyes shot open, a soft shriek pulled from her lips.

"And the harpy awakens!" Cuddy turned to glare at House, but he had wrapped the blanket around himself and was reaching for the remote. As the volume escalated, Cuddy tried to wrench some cover free. House held on tight. "Cuddles, is this the best you've got? When the class picked teams for recess, were you always the last kid to get picked?"

"Shut up!" Cuddy had to yell to be heard over the thundering television. She never realized her speakers could withstand this kind of abuse. She grabbed the remote and muted the volume. "I was always the team captain. Look at me when I'm trying to talk to you, House."

"Can't. I might turn into stone. And if you were ever a team captain, I'm training for a triathlon." After a few moments of the tug-and-war, he relented and let some of the blanket free. Cuddy frowned, forehead wrinkling, as she pondered her current situation. She could sit in the cold and let House ruin her night, or she could get under the blanket _really_ close to him. The thought of his response basically made the decision for her.

House's eyes widened as Cuddy slipped under the bit of blanket he had let her have. She scooted closer to him, resting one hand on his leg and sliding the other around his waist. She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him, speaking in an exaggerated and overdone baby voice. "Aww… what a big boy! Mommy is so proud of you for sharing. Who's a big boy?"

"Whatever parenting book you learned that from, I hope you kept a receipt. If you talk to your real kids like that, they're all going to end up riding the short bus. Well, at least you'll know they're yours." House shifted. Cuddy laughed and loosened her grip, relaxing into him.

"Shut up, House. And you know, not everyone has an ulterior motive or a hidden agenda. You don't have to be happy, but you should really try being satisfied. And don't you dare make a joke about how you satisfied yourself." House said nothing, grinning crookedly and slowly laying his arm over her shoulders.

"Cuddy, are you satisfied?"

"Satisfied? Yes, but that doesn't mean I don't have regrets."

"Judging by the fact that I can't feel my arm anymore, I bet you have a lot of chocolate regrets."

"Shut up, I'm not even lying on your arm."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up. It's like high school all over again. Speaking of which, if you have any cheerleading outfits lying around…"

"It's easier to be blunt with you than it is to ignore you or try to play nicely. Trying to keep up with you is exhausting."

"Obviously you still remember that one night…"

"House…" It was a warning.

"Besides the many nights of playing dead when you could have been trying to keep up with me, what else do you regret?"

"I focused so much on career, on trying to prove myself, that I think I missed out on some parts of life. I not only wanted to be the best, I wanted everyone to know it. And somewhere along the way, I lost sight of why I even became a doctor."

"Which is why you're an administrator, not a doctor," he stated simply. There was no malice in his words. House threw that in her face because he knew it bothered her, he just never knew it hit that close to home.

"Yes." Cuddy all of a sudden felt exhausted and completely drained, mentally, physically, emotionally. She was let down the wall and her honesty had revealed a vulnerability she rarely showed. It was a decision made instinctively, in the moment. The more she thought about it, the more she considered it a mistake. He'd lose his temper down the road and the truths she told him tonight would come back to haunt her. Like the time he told her she'd suck at being a mother.

Her one word answer, soft and hesitant, made House conscious of just how open she had let herself become. Her revelation was of no surprise, though the act of confessing caught him unprepared. Cuddy was always so in control and this slip of raw honesty was out of character. The moment of silence dragged on. He didn't know how to respond.

"Hey Cuddy?"

"Hmm?" Her fingers absently stroked his thigh, feeling the scar.

"Feel like some pie?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Praise the Lord, it works! This chapter has been ready to go since the weekend, but due to technical difficulties, has been waiting in the queue. Enjoy.**

House stirred, awakening from his slumber. As the remnants of a forgotten dream drifted from his mind, he focused his hazy thoughts on his breathing. At first he was concerned that the extra effort he put into each breath was the beginning of a medical disaster. Worst case scenarios ran through his head, chasing away the lingering fantasies of a naked Cuddy. Each breath forced his chest to rise against the added weight. He opened an eye, peering down, and was relieved to see a mess of brown curls. Maybe it wasn't a fantasy after all.

He groaned, shifting a bit under her, trying to maneuver into a more comfortable position without waking her. Her breath was steady, deep, and warm against his chest. Her palm was pressed against his shirt, fingers slightly curled and barely buried in the cloth. House fought back a smile, a fight he lost when he realized where his hand was. Splayed on Cuddy's fine ass. He flexed his fingers, watching quietly to see if the movement would wake her. When she slept on, House came to the conclusion that fate wanted him to cop a feel. Or two.

Cuddy felt warm and secure, and she struggled to stay in slumber. The gentle rise and fall of her bed was reassuring and comforting, a predictable motion that mirrored her own breathing. Cuddy's eyes snapped open. Beds don't move. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkened living room. The television was off and the coffee table was covered with the remnants of their take-out. Oh God. The coffee table and her papers bore witness to the fact that House didn't know how to eat with chopsticks. She pressed her hand against her face before letting it drop back onto his chest with a soft thud. Cuddy would have been concerned with waking him if she hadn't felt her ass being fondled. Clearly House was taking advantage of their current situation.

"Enjoying yourself?" she murmured, fingers absently playing with the material of his shirt.

"Not at all. I was looking for the leftover spring roll when my hand got lost on your big ass. It's like trying to find your way out of the Sahara." He smiled, voice hoarse from having just woken up. His hand continued its exploration of her curves. Since she was aware of what he was doing and had done nothing to discourage him, he took that as a green light.

"Well, let me help you." Cuddy made a half-hearted show of rolling off of him. Her efforts were foiled when he wrapped his other arm around her waist, keeping her in place. She smiled, his fingers a little bolder in their movements, his hand a bit more aggressive.

"I think I'll manage, thanks." House closed his eyes, inhaling her scent. She smelled like the shampoo her salon used and the perfume she wore fundraisers (different from the perfume she wore to work and perfume she wore on dates). He chalked his detailed knowledge of her scents to the fact that it was a male survival skill. Evolution enabled species to procreate by sensing when the females were most fertile. According to his sense of smell, Cuddy was always ready to go.

Her fingers played with the button on his shirt, slowly edging it loose. Taking her time, Cuddy slipped her hand beneath the cotton and skimmed fingertips of his bare skin. He inhaled sharply, biting down to stifle a moan as his own hand paused. She smirked and closed her eyes, experiencing him only through her sense of touch. His skin was warm and his body was firm. His chest hair was a rough contrast to smooth and soft flesh, but she wasn't complaining. She curved her fingers, gently raking her nails across his exposed chest. Cuddy was rewarded with his body tensing beneath her, his fingers digging into her ass. He lifted her hips and dragged her body along his, the intimate contact sending shivers down her back and raising goosebumps on her skin.

"House..." she warned, wanting more than anything to give into the urging and desires currently overriding her common sense. But dependable Dr. Cuddy would not let logic fall to the wayside. She struggled to sit up, using both hands against his chest to push herself up. It wasn't until she sat straddling him that Cuddy realized their current position was far more dangerous.

House watched her, hands now resting lightly on her waist, fingers edging her shirt up to bear her smooth and taut stomach. He tilted his head to the side, ignoring her frown. Cuddy tugged her shirt back down, brushing her bedroom curls out of her eyes. The blanket that once covered them in warmth lay pooled around her hips. She crossed her arms over her chest, and in the process, pressed even closer to him. His eyes fluttered closed and he gritted his teeth, while Cuddy's widened in shock. It seemed the end of naptime had brought "Little Greg" out to play.

"House..." she warned again. He paused, holding his breath before opening his eyes.

"You're more attractive when you don't talk." He renewed his efforts and though her shirt stayed down, his hands disappeared under it.

"If muting people were that easy, I would have invested a long time ago and written it off as a business expense."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Not that many people think you sound like a man."

"What an odd choice of words, House." Cuddy arched a brow and smirked, slowly easing from on top of him. She would never openly admit it, but as his hands slipped from under her shirt, she immediately missed their presence and his touch. "Now are you going to help me clean up?"

"Not my house, not my mess."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and started collecting empty take-out boxes, throwing them into the grease stained paper bag the food had come in. House continued to lay on the couch, watching her and enjoying the view everytime she bent to pick something up.

"There wouldn't be a mess if we had just gone out for pie like you suggested."

"We agreed to Chinese!"

"If by 'we agreed' you mean you called and placed an order while I was getting ready, then yes."

"Told you we agreed."

She glared at him and took the trash and leftovers to the kitchen, feet padding softly on the wood floors as she disappeared into the dark hallway. He sat up and rebuttoned his shirt, grimacing at the ache that resonated from leg. Thankfully, the Vicodin hadn't worn off. He found his discarded jacket on the floor and rummaged through the pockets, looking for his prescription bottle. After dry swallowing two pills, House pushed himself to his feet and reached for his cane.

"Leaving? What time is it?" Cuddy stood in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious. It would be just like House to run away. Even though nothing serious had happened between them, the new level of intimacy in their relationship was probably enough to scare him and send him running back to the booze. She steeled herself, bracing herself emotionally and mentally for his excuses and knowing that the moment he left, she would fall apart. At least he wouldn't be here to see that.

House barely looked at her as he slid the sleeves of his jackets over his arms. The fear had briefly flashed across her face before she put up the mask of indifference. He hated that she always prepared herself for the worst when it came to him. He hated that he had let her down and disappointed her so many times that she considered it inevitable. If there was one thing Greg House didn't consider himself, it was predictable.

"A little after midnight. We can still go get pie, unless you want to eat in." He leered at her, making his implications perfectly clear. As if there was ever any doubt to what he intended. His heart lurched when that radiant smile lit up her features.

"This better not be your way of telling me we're going to a strip club."

"Ladies Night. If I bring you, I get in for free."

Cuddy walked towards him, maintaining eye contact, her chin jutted out defiantly. The distance between them disappeared and she grabbed his jacket, pulling him down until their lips were a breath's width apart. All either one had to do was lean forward. She smiled, her eyes still holding his.

"If you ever take me to a strip club, I'll follow through on that threat of making every television in the hospital permanently set on the pottery channel." Cuddy then stood on her toes, lips brushing the corner of his in a soft kiss. She let go and pivoted, promising to return as soon as she was ready. House was too stunned to respond. He was finding a whole new appreciation for this assertive, no-bullshit Cuddy.

Thirty minutes later, they were finally on their way. House had spent much of that time badgering her and goading her into moving faster. In retaliation to his constant interruptions, she had taken even longer to find the right jacket and the right shoes. She browsed her closet, pretended to think about outfit combinations, and basically stalled just to annoy him. Their juvenile game came to an abrupt end when House pointed out the diner closed at 2, and if he didn't get his pie, he'd have some of hers.

Cuddy's car purred as its headlights cut through the night. She had refused to ride House's motorcycle. She called it a "deathtrap" because he would probably break all kinds of speed limits to get to the diner, and riding at night, in the dark, on unfamiliar streets, was not her idea of a great time.

"You're such an old lady driver. I think a turtle just passed us."

"I'm a safe driver."

"Right. Which is why you bought a Mercedes instead of a Volvo. To be safe."

"I researched Consumer Reports, read reviews and articles, test-drove different cars. This is as safe as..."

"Cuddles, live a little. Well, considering you are out past your bedtime, I guess this is the most excitement you've had in a while. Keep in mind I said excitement, not action."

"Thank you, House. I didn't think it was possible to simultaneously insult somebody for being a homebody and a whore, but once again, you have proven me wrong. Outsmarted! When will I learn?"

"Sarcasm is for the old and bitter. Which I suppose fits you well, you dried up shell of a woman."

"House, I have no problem being the adult in this situation. I am more than happy to turn this car around and go home. Do you want your pie or not?"

"Yes, mommy." House pouted and Cuddy thought he looked adorable. Until he started to play with her power windows, rolling the passenger side glass up and down and up and down. Finally, she child-proofed the controls and tried to focus his attention.

"House, you realize we have to talk about... us... at some point."

"What is there to talk about? We're going to get pie."

"What happened earlier doesn't concern you? Even a little bit?"

"Pie first." House turned up the radio and effectively killed the conversation. Cuddy glanced at the neon numbers on her dash. 12:52. It was going to be one of those nights.


	11. Chapter 11

**Note: This is a little more brooding and a little darker than I expected. It's also not how I imagined ending this story, but it seems to be a good stopping point. Thoughts?**

Cuddy absently picked at the piece of pie from the hospital cafeteria. The crust looked undercooked, the apples looked overcooked, and the saran wrap had mashed it all together. Entirely unappetizing, but it was the closest she had gotten to the baked dessert. On their way to the diner, both had gotten emergency pages from the hospital.

Jeremy Dalney was a 36 year old man who had come into the ER for chest pains. While waiting to be seen, he had started to hear voices. Jeremy became more and more agitated. When it was finally his turn to be examined, he was already in the midst of a full-blown psychotic hallucination. Despite the best efforts to restrain and sedate him, he had bitten an emergency technician and he had stabbed a nurse in the arm with a needle.

Cuddy's page regarded an administrative nightmare. Two of her employees had basically been assaulted while on duty. She had to come in to see if they were alright, to file the requisite paperwork, and to deal with the legal and insurance issues. House's page was a reference to this medical mystery. Jeremy was currently sedated, though if you watched the machines monitoring him, you'd never be able to tell. His heart was beating at a pace rarely found in healthy adults, outside of Olympic level athletes. His brain activity was in the range of master chess players. There was no explanation for these amped characteristics, or how a man who had never displayed any symptoms out-of-the-ordinary was suddenly Superman.

The Mercedes pulled an illegal u-turn, beams from the headlights illuminating the dark houses along the street. The drive passed in silence, both consumed with establishing a plan of attack. House's team had received notice to meet in twenty. Cuddy had woken PPTH's general counsel and he was faxing over papers she needed to review and sign. It was going to be a long night for both of them.

Though the two arrived together, the hospital staff was too busy with damage control to notice. Patients had to be calmed and reassured that they were in good care and that the hospital was not in danger of another hostage situation. Cuddy immediately headed to her office, switching on the lights and drawing the blinds closed with a shudder. Thank God she always kept extra clothes hanging on the back of her bathroom door. House, meanwhile, steadily made his way to the elevator, cane thudding against the polished tile floors. The two hadn't looked at each other since first leaving Cuddy's house.

**[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]**

House slept on the recliner in his office, leg propped up to ease the inevitable pain that would, sooner or later, wake him from his slumber. His cane leaned against his desk, the medical files of his patient strewn over any and all available table space. The white board was covered with symptoms. He had stared at it for hours, blue eyes steady and focused, pouring over the same black and white letters. Diseases, scenarios, medical journal articles, every pertinent bit of knowledge in his mind twisted and turned, working like a Rubik's cube for the right combination. He needed a solution.

Cuddy stood in the hallway, looking into House's office, second guessing herself. She held a cup of hot coffee, cream and no sugar. He looked awful. The stubble that normally graced his jaw had grown into the rougher beginnings of a beard. His hair looked greasy and the bags under his eyes were darker than usual. She had stayed away as long as possible, giving him the space he needed to work. Though he was still as blunt and inappropriate as ever, she couldn't still the relief blooming in her chest every time he burst through her doors to demand another test. Cuddy had watched him work through hundreds of cases, and some he identified with more than others. This was one of them, for God knows what reason.

Her heels clicked softly on the carpet in his office as she entered, pausing momentarily to watch him sleep. The heat permeated the paper cup, slowly spreading through her fingers. She ignored the scalding for a moment before slowly making space on his desk and setting the coffee down. Cuddy looked at her empty hands, perfectly manicured, and the second thing she could think of doing with them was smooth down her wool skirt. She started to leave, but gathered the courage to do what had first come to her mind. Deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat, Cuddy sat down on the footrest next to House's leg.

She smiled, a soft and sad smile. The corner of her lips turned up, though the expression didn't reach her eyes. Gray and blue wrestled with each other, much like the emotions stirring in her chest. His work would always come first. It was nothing as valiant as caring for the health of his patients. Solving the puzzle was the passion that drove him. It dragged him from beneath the covers into the cold morning. It pushed him through the pain of his tortured leg. If anything happened between them, his motivation would be in the novelty, the excitement, the mystery. But once House had his answers, once she opened up and he figured her out, it'd be done. He'd have his solution, she'd have her heartbreak.

Cuddy's smile faltered, lip quivering as she tried to rein in those thoughts. She was getting ahead of herself. A quiet laugh escaped her lips, laced with cynicism. This _thing_ between her and House had been racing along for some time now. She was just along for the ride, hanging on for dear life and praying that it didn't end in a train wreck. He coughed in his sleep, breaking through her reverie. House shifted, brow furrowing as he muttered restlessly in his sleep. Soundlessly, his lips moved, mouthing the symptoms he had been pouring over for the past few days. Haunted by the unsolvable mystery.

She leaned forward, her body moving on its own. Without care or concern for the people passing in the hallway with a perfect view through the glass plated door, she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Rough stubble scraped her soft fingertips, but she was gentle and barely there. Her hand molded against his face, palm pressed skin to skin, her thumb gracing his cheek.

House leaned into the touch, the warmth on his face a welcome change from the cold he had spent much of the night trying to huddle away from beneath his jacket. He murmured, eyes fluttering open. At first, he thought he was still sleeping. Brown curls cut across her forehead, dark locks cascading around her shoulders. Her eyes were gray, underscored by a brilliant blue. Cuddy clearly hadn't expected him to wake, her thumb stopped, poised against his check. Embarrassed, she broke eye contact, moving to pull her hand away.

Instinctively, without cause or explanation, his hand wrapped around her wrist, jacket falling from his body to pool around his waist. He turned his head, a small movement that brought his lips against her palm, a soft kiss against the skin. The movement was so subtle, the kiss so slight, that the entire thing could have been a figment of both their imaginations. House unwrapped his fingers from her wrist and Cuddy brought her hand away, fingers folded against her palm.

"I brought you coffee. Cream, no sugar." Her voice was soft and hesitant, unsure whether his display of affection was the result of too little sleep or whether it meant something more.

"I want my money back." His voice was gruff, hoarse, raspy and deep, in a tone that caused her knees to quiver.

"You didn't pay for this."

"But I did pay for a hooker to watch me sleep. And I wake up to you. Downgrade." He gave her a crooked smile, on the brink of a smirk. A yawn contorted his face and he struggled to sit up. Cuddy laughed and slapped his leg in response to the quip, standing up and smoothing down her skirt again. He took advantage of the moment to stare at her chest. She pretended not to notice.

"Kutner says you haven't been home in days. You smell like it."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear. Probably would've saved you hours waiting for that blind date to call. Come to think of it, if he was actually blind he would've been your best bet."

"Right. Enjoy your coffee." Cuddy smiled, eyes playful, as she lifted the still steaming cup off his desk. She turned and handed it to him. House murmured some other insult, but his attention was diverted by the much needed and appreciated caffeine. A moan escaped and his eyes closed, letting the hot beverage flood his body, energy jolting his nerves. As she walked by him towards the door, she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

House placed his free hand on the small of her back, its presence barely noticeable but for the slight pressure on the tail of her suit jacket. He leaned forward, lips against her ear, sleep-deprived voice scratching, "Thanks."

She shivered involuntarily. House's physical proximity was something she would never grow tired of. Her runaway lustful thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain as he brought his hand down on her ass, a resounding slap echoing in his office. Cuddy rolled her eyes and walked to the door, gathering herself enough to throw a narrow-eyed glare at him over her shoulder. His eyes twinkled, endless blue, as he lifted his cup in acknowledgement. She bit down on her lip, hiding the smile as she sauntered down the hall to the elevator, knowing he had probably followed her to the door just to watch her hips. Might as well give him a show.

**[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]**

36 hours later, Jeremy Dalney experienced cardiac arrest and could not be resuscitated. He passed away just as the ducklings were telling him they were a few more tests away from finding out what was wrong with him. He began to seize, his heart stopped, and despite the best efforts of the medical team, he was gone.

House sent them home, locking himself in his office, surrounded by Jeremy's charts, records, test results, and the white board. He drew the blinds to his office closed, his desk lamp the only light in the dark. The illumination cast shadows to dance on his walls. Though he had used the hospital's facilities to shower, he still had yet to shave. House scratched his beard, the abundant facial hair new and annoying.

A copy of Jeremy Dalney's death certificate crossed her desk at the end of the day, though she hadn't looked at it. The first chance she got was the first breather of the day. Cuddy was packing up for home when she picked up that last stack of papers, flipping through it to separate and prioritize. The name immediately jumped off the page. She sighed and dropped back into her seat, brushing her hair out of her eyes. House rarely ever lost a patient, especially an undiagnosed one.

Within moments, her office was dark and empty, the door swinging closed with a soft click. Her heels tapped along the tile, resonating within the empty clinic walls.

ehheehehe

Knocking on the glass interrupted his process. He ignored it and started again, reviewing symptoms, and cause-and-effect reasoning. The knocking continued, persistent. House refused to be deterred, running through all the possible scenarios he could think of. A click and twist before his door opened, her petite silhouette emerging from the bright hallway. The door closed behind her, darkness swallowing her figure. He barely looked away from the white board.

"Maintenance." Cuddy dangled the key ring from her fingers, jingling the collection in hopes of capturing his attention, even for a brief moment. His office was a dark lair but for the lamp on his desk, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was a physical representation of the state his mind was currently in.

"Make a habit of breaking into people's offices?"

"Just taking a page from your book. What're you doing?"

"Having a tea party."

"House... stop. Go home."

Silence answered.

"House, why do you need to solve this?"

He continued to ignore her, eyes running over the same words that had been written on the board for the past week. Completely disconnected from the world, he was lost in himself. House was brilliant, no one could deny that fact. But his brilliance was only recognized through the lives he saved. His colleagues begrudgingly respected his intelligence, though only as far as the impossible and improbable cases he solved. The guilt was inexplicable. He couldn't quite pin it down to failing to live up to other people's expectations, or failure to live up to his own.

She repeated the question, and this time she was in his line of sight. Cuddy squatted before him, tucking her finger under his chin and lifting his head. Her eyes scanned his, looking for a sign of recognition. And there, in a brief flicker of blue, he registered her presence. His eyes widened, he exhaled, and she whispered a small prayer of thanks that he wasn't entirely lost.

"House, why is this so important?"

"Because I need to know. The chances he had an undiscovered disease is slim to none, which means there's an answer." He tried to look past her, but Cuddy gripped his chin, forcing his eyes to stay with hers. He was going down that dark and lonely road.

"House, it's not always about the answer. There was nothing you could've done for Jeremy Dalney. He had a heart attack. He was unresponsive. House, you're not God."

A piece of her heart broke when she saw the reaction to her words. The statement was one that House both needed and dreaded. He needed the confirmation that this wasn't his fault, that sometimes, the answers are just out of reach. You run out of time, of space, of resources, sometimes the answers lay just out of reach. At the same time, no answers meant no solutions. The puzzle would always haunt and taunt him.

Cuddy did the only thing she could to pull him back from that ledge. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. When he didn't respond, she fought back tears and slid both hands along his jaw, bracing her forehead against his. Her eyes closed, fingers running through his beard seeking the warmth of flesh and skin. As a tear slid its way down her cheek, slick track in its path, she regained her composure. Cuddy needed only to be strong until she could make it back to her own office.

She took a deep breath and suddenly, she was breathing him in. His lips were on hers, searching. The demand grew and his kiss became bruising, stronger. She grazed her nails along his jawline, burying her fingers in his hair, overcome with relief that House wasn't completely gone. The demand became eager, both straining to taste the other. Their tongues sought contact and the moment they touched was electric. He pulled away, causing her to gasp when his teeth playfully nipped at her lip. House's tongue caught the tear as it lay at the corner of her mouth, gently kissing it away. He leaned his forehead against hers again, breathing.

A few moments of bliss passed before the pain in Cuddy's thighs brought her back to the dark office. Squatting in heels and a tight skirt may not have been the best idea. She gave House another soft kiss on the lips, lingering and almost lost as he deepened it. Standing, she grimaced as the ache in her legs spread. Regretfully, she slipped her fingers free of his salt and pepper graying hair.

"There's not always an answer, House."

"There's always an answer. Just because you can't put together a children's puzzle doesn't mean that it's impossible. What doesn't have a solution?"

"Life, House, life doesn't have a solution." And the want in Cuddy's voice made it clear that she was speaking from a position more personal, more touching, than just about medical mysteries. He nodded, more in acknowledging her response than in agreeing with it. She held out her hand and was more than a little hurt when he refused to take it. House pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his cane and leaning on it as he reached to switch off the desk light. She watched in silence, waiting to walk out with him.

As her eyes adjusted to the sudden flood of darkness, her breath caught in her throat as she felt his hand reaching for hers. Their fingers briefly entangled, his grip tightening as she led the way to the door.

"Hey Cuddy, about that pie..."

**Please review, I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks.**


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